


For the Love of Dark Gods

by Fireskin



Category: Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Evil, Redemption, Rivalmance, Slow Burn, non Canon, villain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6520411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireskin/pseuds/Fireskin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was the BainSidhe, the red lyrium laced harbinger of destruction for her twisted God Corypheus. </p><p>But now she was also the Herald of Andraste pronounced to save the world from the God she loved. She would laugh in their faces and destroy them, happily...but that something wasn't right. </p><p>What had happened at the Conclave? Why had her God forsaken her there and why were his people hunting her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Rude Awakening

She had always been faithful. Her vallaslin sang with the red lyrium her God had given her. Her works had been sly, effective. The fire in her blood that demanded retribution for her people had made her his favorite. His BainSidhe, harbinger of destruction.

Why then, had Corypheus abandoned her? She couldn't remember what had happened at the conclave. Only the pain and the strange green mark that burned cold in contrast to the heat of the lyrium to give her clues. Well, if you discounted the horde of twisted and unrecognizable bodies left behind. Was that supposed to happen? She couldn't remember.

She surreptitiously glanced around at the companions fate and the knife edged woman called Cassandra had left her with. First was the woman, herself. Intense, brooding nearly to the point of madness. At least, that was her experience of those with eyes of such intensity. Second was the dwarf, Varric? A trickster who would be easily manipulated through his need to be liked.

But last was the elf, Solas. He radiated in a way that reminded her of her missing God. Perhaps he had taken a new form as he was wont to do when damaged? She would be close to this one. She would find out.

_______

She stared up into the sky, breath timed to the breathing of the angry mouth that spat it's terrible bounty into the earth. In, out with the companion pulsing in her hand.  
It had been an eventful day. A face off, a new organization and a new deal with the dark haired dynamo who lead from the ranks. Later in the day she'd stood watching, quiet and focused. Understanding that information would give her more of a chance of survival.

The woman Cassandra had spoken to her while she watched, talking of her personal fears. Well, that was something. She could make use of personal fears. This one would be easily manipulated.

Next she'd run across the spymistress in a moment of her own fear. Again she'd stayed quiet and watched for a time before speaking with her. This one was more dangerous, but clearly in a place where her own rage may help her miss what was under her nose.

Then the commander, the former templar. Early into their conversation she'd realized she would need to expand this pretended friendship for it's access to lyrium. She was already feeling the withdrawal, rising like a devouring beast in the back of her mind. She'd witnessed the horrific symptoms when her God had refused it to one of theirs as punishment. Death would be preferable. Perhaps regular lyrium would get her through it until they found more of the red.

"Bless me with the answer, my darkest one." She'd prayed to the twisted entity she missed so desperately.

Varric had waved her down later and asked how she was feeling. She's wanted to answer "Like venomous serpents are devouring my skin," but she didn't think he'd take that well. Further conversation slipped her the blessing she'd prayed for. He'd admitted that he had found the initial red lyrium.

Such a large secret to be shared so readily. He may know where she could get more. Definitely someone to cultivate.

Finally had been the elven mage. She'd waited until last to speak to him out of both fear and hope. Some part of her was drawn to him beyond what made sense on the surface. She wanted to just ask, "Are you my missing God?" But hadn't. This had to be done carefully as even now he radiated threat.

He'd watched her as closely as she'd watched him through their conversation. Narrowed eyes studying more than just her physical body. The conversation had strayed to the fade and certain words seemed as though they were said purposefully to gauge her understanding. He was trying to decipher her secrets just as much as she was his. But she was the BainSidhe. She didn't fear.

Except for the hole in the sky that leashed her body to it. In the fading light of this busy day, she could acknowledge. She feared the breach.


	2. Betrayal at Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexius served her master as she did. Why then did he not welcome her as a sister?

Redcliffe had proved both interesting and worrisome.

She'd stumbled upon the cache of tranquil skulls set for the ocularum. She'd known of them before, although it had not been her job to butcher or create. Her lyrium laced body had been too valuable for that, particularly with the rarity of red lyrium. She had been surprised, however, to find the gruesome workroom right in the middle of a populous village filled with foreign mages.

When she'd met one of the few remaining tranquil at the tavern there, she'd happily sent him to “Join the inquisition”...the number of skulls remaining in the workroom were too few for the grand plan her master had put in place. He would make a worthy sacrifice to her God and his cause.

'Clarence' would be a gift for him when she finally found a way to return to him again she pondered as she smiled at the (mildly) grateful man.

From there, however, things became much more complicated.

Her heart nearly stopped, then sped rapidly, beating in time to the confused thoughts whirling through her head. Alexius was there! Alexius of her master's Venatori. She caught herself in time before declaring her joy in finding connection with her master again. And it was a wise thing, for he behaved as if they were meeting for the first time around her companions.

When they turned away, however, the intensity of his gaze made it clear he recognized her.

Her relief had been intense. She would 'hire' these mages and in so doing open the Inquisition to a traitorous defeat from inside Haven's walls. And then she would return to her blighted master. She opened her mouth to accept his carefully worded offer but was interrupted.

Felix, his weakling son, pretended to collapse, leaving a carefully palmed note in her hand. Seeing how quickly Alexius sprang to his side, she repressed her impulse to stab the God's be damned boy. This was clearly planned. She would follow this trail to identify any traitorous dealings. And then she would destroy them if they so much as breathed her God's name wrong.

And so she found herself at the local Chantry, fighting and then chatting with another Tevinter mage, Dorian. He seemed convinced that she must be trustworthy and so she played along. As she nodded and smiled at his arrogant words, she pondered how he would make a good Venatori, or perhaps a good tranquil himself, depending on which side he ultimately took.

And then Felix came in and brought the news that still had her mind reeling. Alexius and the Venatori had taken on the southern mages for one reason. To get to her.

They had been searching only for her.

She was right here? Why not just take her back to their master as her heart ached for them to do? Why the elaborate ruse? As she reluctantly left the village and her hope of an easy escape behind, she clenched her fist, cursing again the flaring mark that had separated her from Corypheus.

What had happened that she didn't remember?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As notes from a playthrough, the chapters are necessarily short. Once I finish it, however, I may rewrite it as something more comprehensive.


	3. Are we Friends?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between former compatriots and present companions, the meaning of "friend" becomes confused.

Her veins burned with reaction to the loss of consistent lyrium poisoning. The marks on her face and body did their job, blighting her just enough to hear Corypheus song and enhance her magic to dangerous levels. But, the Gods be damned, the loss of the daily ingestion _hurt_! She must resolve this lack, and soon.

And so, quickly things had been set in order and again she was off to Redcliffe Castle. She'd managed to manipulate the adviser's agreement to let her come, ostensibly for the mages. But truly, she just wanted to see Alexius again, and perhaps bargain the lives of her companions (for her God would very much want the famed right hand of the divine and the dwarf who knew the location of the source of the red lyrium) for passage back to her master. When he greeted her with the hearty words, “Old friend,” her heart began to soar.

Damn Leliana and her agents! Their move was made too early and Alexius reacted in panic. She had stepped near to speak to him of her offer, and the moment was spoiled. Too close to the source of his attack, and the world faded behind a bright flash of sickly light.

The future she opened her eyes to nearly stopped her heart. A future where her God had won! Her future, the one she prayed for!

As she and the Tevinter man wandered the castle looking for Alexius (although if Dorian had understood her reasons for doing so, he may not have been so eager), they came across Fiona in the final throws of lyrium incubation. She smiled almost kindly at the older woman, soon she would be one with the blighted song of Corypheus.

Near her, they found the companions she'd brought with her in the past. They too had been exposed to the red lyrium, but it had affected them more like it did her. Functional but more. Varric's song was muted through his dwarven resistance but Cassandra's sang like a symphony.

As their songs combined, she felt a momentary closeness to these two. More than compatriots in that moment. Siblings in the blighted music that ran through their veins. _Join me,_ her heart offered them, silently.

They found red lyrium. Growing in great, glowing pillars through the hallways and courtyards. One particularly pure vein pulsed and called and she moved to it almost without thinking. The pain of her withdrawal the only thing able to fill her mind in that moment.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” Varric stepped between her and the chunk she meant to take. “We should...study it.” She managed to stutter through her need. “Red, I can feel it in you. I have no idea how you managed to get red lyrium in your blood all in the past, but I can promise you, nothing good will come of it.” His expression of concern for her was discomfiting. _Join me_ , her silent thought pushed at his mind but it was only thought and did nothing.

And then they found Leliana. Her instincts were to override the torturer and slay her then. However, there was little she could do but free the woman, with the others watching and armed. _Join me_ , her eyes burned the question into the spymisstress as she freed her, but the intensity was misread as anger at the horrors Leliana had survived.

As they made their way through the ruined castle, a different truth made it's appearance. This was a future where the breach, the one thing she truly feared, had grown to such an extent that even her God and his followers suffered from it. A letter, discarded in Alexius' quarters made the truth clear. She didn't allow the others to read it, or any of the writings strewn about, for fear they may name her for what she was. But the truth was in them.

This was not the future her God had wanted! For Corypheus sake, she could not allow this future to stand.

And so it was she and her blighted companions slew the false Alexius. And so it was she watched these people she would betray if she could, face their own deaths to stop hers. And so it was they went back through the portal and faced the Alexius of now and drove him to his knees.

They had the mages. They could close the breach and stop this terrible future from frustrating her master. This future would not come to pass, leaving room for a different darkness to take it's place. One more pleasing to her God.

As Cassandra and Varric faced the angry queen of Ferelden with her, she felt her gaze inexplicably drawn to their now unblighted faces. Her heart whispered with a surprising fervency. _Join me...please._

One day, they would serve with her, she swore. She would give them every chance to join rather than be destroyed. These two, of them all, she desired to turn to true brother and sister in her dark faith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the artwork with the story.


	4. In Your Heart shall Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BainSidhe, the servant of Corypheus finds the truth of her dark master and a new purpose in her RAGE.

Closing the breach had been almost anti-climactic. She exulted as she felt the power of the gathered mages flowing into her at Solas' behest. It burned through her in a way that fired her lyrium tattoos and set the red glow of her own power against the green. When the swirling maw broke, snapping shut with a blast of power, she nearly laughed.

Later that night, as the rest had celebrated, she remained apart contemplating how best to turn this victory, and this village of overly hopeful fools, over to her God. Cassandra joined her for a bit, clearly not comfortable with the revelry herself. “Guide me to your side.” she prayed quietly as they watched. The other woman clearly believing her prayer was for the false Maker.

Once again, her supplication had been answered almost as soon as she'd uttered it. Within moments the clarion horns of warning sounded. An army approached. Perhaps her master had finally come for her!

When the stalwart form of Samson took his place on the hilltop she knew. She KNEW they were there for her even before he was joined by the towering figure of her God.

Corypheus!

It was all she could do to keep the exultation from her face as the overly hopeful fools around her ran for the Chantry and a very false safety. Though she wanted to stay put and wait for Samson and Corypheus, Cassandra had grabbed her and pulled Bainsidhe along in her wake as she struggled to save those important enough to require the leaderships intervention.

And then Cole arrived.

The strange spirit boy nearly undid her when he stated that she knew the Elder One and that he knew her. She nearly killed him right there where he stood. Only the presence of the Commander stopped her. He seemed to not fully understand what the boy meant, fortunately, or she may have had to kill them both. A tricky proposition with the combat experience of the heavily armed man.

She knew the city was lost. Her master's armies outmatched the ragged village, even with the Inquisitions limited force. Her heart sang as the people around her wept and screamed. Some commenting on her calm in the face of certain doom. Finally even the Commander declared the fight hopeless and a plan was made for them to flee.

It was no hardship for her to volunteer to stay behind and distract Corypheus. As the Commander looked at her with sad eyes, certain of her doom, she bit back a laugh.

She would go to Corypheus, and once again in the bosom of her God, she would show him the path and the fleeing force would be destroyed utterly. All but Cassandra and Varric, those two and Solas she'd pulled with her in the hopes that they would be taken alive when she turned on them. That they would face indoctrination rather than death.

Those three fought the attacking templars while she prepared the trebuchet she would never fire. She couldn't bring herself to attack her brethren and fumbled about in hope that the ferocity of the combat would hide her inaction.

She was ready to scream in frustration at the delay when the master's dragon finally arrived, separating her from her captors with his fiery bulk (and sending her flying in the indiscriminate blast).

And then _he_ arrived.

She could barely move for relief, but managed to stagger to her feet, ready to throw herself forward in worshipful prostration.

He spoke, but his words made no sense to her. “It is your fault, Herald. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying you stole it's purpose.”

Her fault? She hadn't asked for this. She would never have betrayed her God! The displeasure in his voice was clear as he spoke about the painful light in her hand. The Anchor he called it, and accused her of stealing it from him. Accused her of having the gall to use it to undo his work.

“Take it! I didn't ask for this!” She pleaded, all but undone with a frantic need for him to understand. To know that she would never have willingly betrayed him. To believe that she had only undone the breach so that he could create it anew as he desired it. She reached out to him, every urge in her body to fling the stolen anchor back. To be forgiven and taken back into the red lyrium laced heart of his army.

He would not listen. She had served him faithfully nearly all the years of her life. She had undergone the horrifying agony of the lyrium tattooing for him. She had given her body as a reward to Samson for him. She had killed and tormented and left a swath of blood that spanned continents for him.

“Why?” She'd croaked out after he'd nearly broken that body flinging her against the forgotten trebuchet.

“Because you are my _enemy._ Because you stand in the way of destined power….Because I _can.”_

Derision. She had given him everything she could, and he rewarded her with derision?

His approaching form loomed as she struggled for breath against the strained wood and taut rope. She drank in the scorn of his eyes tracing over her and in that moment she realized a truth that loomed larger than he did. That filled the world and blinded her eyes with it's force.

He was not a God.

If this thing on her palm was a mistake, it was his mistake. If the breach had stayed open to harm him in that twisted future, it had done so because he wasn't a God. A God could have closed it any time he'd wanted. If this twisted parody of greatness could so demean and discard his most effective servants, he did not deserve her loyalty or her praise.

He deserved her _rage_.

Over his shoulder, a distant flame of a burning arrow caught her blurred vision. The Inquisition had reached a safe distance. He neared her where she cowered against the war machine, readying his own flame to burn her life away and she made a decision.

With a frantic leap she broke the stalemate between rope and wood and the great stone screamed it's way to break the delicate balance of the mountain.

If he was going to destroy her, she would take him with her.

Another sign that he was no God showed in the speed with which he fled the roaring side of the mountain falling on them like the end of the world. And perhaps for her it would be, she thought as she herself fled. The scream of falling stone as if the mountain was itself a dragon, a loud crash near her and then nothing…

 

When she woke in darkness, she didn't know how much time had passed or where she was or if she had truly survived.

But she knew RAGE.

He'd escaped this time, and the rage that filled that thought sustained her through an attack by demons. Making itself manifest in the great green blast that sucked them in.

Out into the snow and darkness. Her limbs heavy with the freezing sleet and injury she'd sustained. She fell and the darkness embraced her, whispering of a restful death. And she answered it with the fire of her _rage_.

He would not survive while she died, she whispered to herself as she struggled again to her feet.

He would learn to fear her as his enemies had once feared him, she growled to herself as she staggered past a shadowy forest in the nearly thigh deep white.

He would beg her for mercy and when his tainted and despairing eyes looked into hers…even her enhanced endurance began to fail but her rage screamed to the heavens as she fell to her knees...”HE WILL SEE ONLY HIS TRUE DEATH!”

Her scream echoed off the rocks surrounding her, flinging her rage back at her and filling her heart enough to beat once more, twice more…

Voices answered her rage filled shout.

She had been found. She would not die until her vengeance had taken it's full measure.


	5. A Considered Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Bainsidhe arrives in Skyhold, her plans seem to be moving forward without a hitch...but for the suspicion of a certain elven mage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long delay. This last month has had both a funeral of a man who was very important in my life, and the wedding of my youngest daughter immediately afterwards. 
> 
> Things will come more quickly now... at least until principle photography starts this summer. :p

 

Consciousness returned to the sound of arguing. Where was she? Her body ached with the fading of extreme pain, much as it had as she'd recovered from the lyrium that had been forced into her skin. But the sounds were not the twisted whispering that had accompanied consciousness that time. She cast her mind about, trying to make some sense of the unfamiliar and slowly the truth seeped into her mind.

Confusion, betrayal, rage coursed quickly through her heart and across her face as she lay there. _She remembered._ Fists clenching and a growl rising in her throat she opened her eyes, tensing to spring from her cot when all thought stalled. She was not alone. Mother Giselle sat beside her watching with a considering gaze.

She had expected questions about what had happened in Haven, but instead the revered mother spoke words of comfort and Bainsidhe relaxed. It was clear in the woman's face that her mind was more on her own agenda than on any secrets of her patient. As they left the tent where she'd been tended to face the fragmented leadership of the group, Bainsidhe realized that all of their agendas could be quietly corrupted to serve her own.

She hid a bitter smile as they bowed to her in the rough camp. They wanted to gain power through the name of the Herald of Andraste? She would make them believe that she was the faithful herald, and then she would use them to the last drop of Inquisition blood if necessary to gain her vengeance.

A gaze drew her attention from dark thoughts of vengeance. The mage, Solas, stood considering her as if in deep thought. She'd once thought he was a manifestation of Corypheus, but clearly that was not the case. Yet he felt similarly to her red lyrium enhanced senses. What was he? A threat? A boon? Another want to be godling jockeying for power? The intensity of his watch didn't abate as he approached and asked to speak to her. He spoke of the orb, and there were words under his words that he did not say out loud. An understanding that body language conveyed without clarifying.

How could he have known of the orb? Corypheus had kept it as his most guarded secret and most prized possession. And how should she react to this potential threat? Kill him and leave his body beneath the snow at the edge of camp? Persuade him to share his secrets with her with the goal of destroying her betrayer?

Then he spoke of a place of safety and the decision was made for her for in that moment. If her army were to grow to the point of outmatching Corypheus', it would need a safe place to be built.

 

The march was long and cold and surprising. As she turned back to watch the multitudes following her, an odd feeling spread hesitant tendrils through her heart. They followed _her_. Not as a general for someone else of power. Not because they were compelled. But because they had faith in their own dark leader (although in their minds perhaps just dark of skin, not knowing the darkness of her soul).

They were hers.

Enslaved, corrupted, used and trained to faithfulness, she'd never had anything that she could claim ownership of. For a moment she allowed the strange emotions to raise up where she could study them. But only a moment before they were lost in the revelation of their new home. The imposing structure that the subtle mage called Skyhold.

 

The move into Skyhold was frantic and relieved in equal measure. She found herself getting caught in the faces of those who followed her. Drawn in to their humanity in a way that made her supremely uncomfortable. Added to that was the growing withdrawal from the stolen lyrium she'd left behind in the now buried Haven. In defense she found herself spending more and more time hidden away inside the keep.

Her isolation left her unprepared for the attention of the masses, and particularly the advisers as she emerged from her hiding place a few days later. Their faces bore smiles, but there was a definite tension behind those welcoming expressions as she winced in the sunlight.

When Cassandra drew her to the battlements where Leliana waited with a massive sword, her heart stopped for a moment. Had they found out her secret? Was this to be her death before the ones she'd lied to? It took a supreme bit of acting to not run, but to walk up to the ladies and listen to their words with a polite smile rather than a snarl.

She was unprepared again for the revelation of what the actual intent was. Inquisitor? Leader of the masses she'd been watching as only Herald. The faces that she'd been avoiding studying all looked up at her. Worshipful, hopeful, certain. Faithful as she had been faithful to her false god.

They offered her the sword with the moment of real decision. Would she avoid the heightened scrutiny, the chance to be revealed for what she had been? Or would she risk all for the power to control this organization as she'd plotted from the snow laden camp?

Her hesitation was just a moment. She knew her course. Power for vengeance was worth any sacrifice. Any risk. The latent rage that lived in her heart since the betrayal began to rise.

Rage lifted the sword and rage thrust it at the sky in challenge. She was the Bainsidhe! She would march through this world at the head of this budding force and she would make it her weapon to bring down the Elder One and turn him to dust.

 

The next few days passed for her in a world of strangeness and pain. People smiled at her as she passed them, they spoke of her reverently when she listened to their conversations. Cassandra withdrew from the war room and the advisers table in a clear show of support for Bainsidhe's authority. The advisers themselves reacted with a deference they hadn't shown before. She would have relaxed her constant state of watchful tension but for two things. The first being the growing pain that hammered at her skull and her skin as the inscribed lyrium began to compensate for what had been long term ingestion.

The second was the studying intensity of the gaze that Solas leveled on her whenever she was within eyesight.

Finally, a fit of pain and frustration sent her to confront him. Perhaps a foolish thing, she scolded herself, but she grew tired of guessing what level of danger he presented. To her surprise, he headed off the confrontation, almost as if he could see her intent. Instead, he asked her to walk with him and, strangely, without argument she did.

Haven...that was wrong. She knew it, but couldn't quite put her finger on why. He took her to the cell where she'd woken, fresh from Corypheus presence with the cursed mark on her. Why there? He spoke of watching her, studying the mark.

He'd studied her as she slept his words said. His demeanor said more. He knew something of her secrets but not enough. Once again, words beneath the words. Questions he asked without asking. Almost she answered without answering.

But then he took her outside and it was as if she awoke from a compulsion. The warlike armor he'd been wearing disappeared in the green sunlight leaving him in the clothing she knew him to wear normally. The need to answer his unspoken questions faded and she could tell he saw when it did. He turned away, giving her a moment to study him.

The subtlety of his need to know was still there, but so was something else. Something in their balance of power had changed. She needed to know more about this dangerous enigma masking himself as a man.

A man...In her experience there was a weakness all men had. Did he?

Only one way to find out. And with the thought came the action. She took his chin and kissed him, his lips surprised and soft beneath hers.

When she drew back to study his reaction, that reaction was immediate. He took her forcefully in his arms and kissed her back in a move that seemed set to show his dominance. She struggled through her body's traitorous reaction and instead tried to read his intention through his lips. When he drew back, his studying of her bore a marked resemblance to her own study of his reaction. A moment of deliberation and then he made a decision.

He kissed her again and she realized that the game was well and truly afoot. Who would win this romantic cat and mouse? She was determined that she would, in spite of how good his arms felt around her without the violence she'd become accustomed to in lovemaking. In spite of how his lips moved against hers. In spite of the desperate hunger she read in his body as it pressed against hers. She would win she thought through the rising lust.

Until she woke abruptly in her bed and the realization that he had the power to pull her into the fade and manipulate it around her.

The thought made her heart grow cold with fear.


	6. Not really a chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not really a chapter. This is heavy movie filming time as an actor and I have a troublesome project in post production. Nothing is abandoned. Just a heads up that I likely won't be posting for a couple more weeks until after we make our Sundance film festival submission.

Lyrium! Romance and bitter choices all in the next chapter in two or three weeks. :)


	7. The Devil named Lyrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are stabilizing in Skyhold...everything but the Bainsidhe's lyrium withdrawal.

Things would be good here in the massive fortress in the snow.

They'd entered the fortress keep together, she and her advisers, together but not equals as she strode ahead of the others through the rubbled entry. Best they know now how the chain of command would be observed. Clearly they were used to subservience as not one moved to overtake her.

That had been earlier in the day, but now the Bainsidhe's red rimmed gaze wandered over the tower room they had appointed her. Quarters that fit her new stature as a free woman and military rival to a God. The highest of towers and the most defensible place in the fortress. She would gloat, but the withdrawal made all advances precarious.

The subsequent day had certainly had it's trying moments. First, a rather pointed questioning by Dorian. His gaze had been intent, thoughtful. Breaking down into a million political aspirations every word and gesture as she responded. Watching carefully the shaking of her hands. He couldn't know it was withdrawal, so he must have assumed it was fear that caused her trembling.

When he'd outright asked her if she wanted the accolades of the world, she'd been able to answer honestly, “That's not why I'm doing this.” Of course, he mistook the reason for her answer as she had hoped. He was a slippery eel though. A slippery Tevinter eel, and that meant that the corruption that was Tevinter bread and butter likely oozed through his veins. Making him potentially more useful to her.

The Iron Bull had been another tricky interview. He'd dragged her around to listen to her soldiers, assuming she had no practice with command. An assumption she attempted to foster so that he would underestimate her.

 

But with the undermining of the withdrawal, she'd slipped up somehow in speaking to the ben hassrath. His body language soon gave away that he knew now she was not what she presented. She'd just begun working out his murder in her mind when his careful words made it clear that so long as she lead well, he didn't care about her other purposes. Of course she didn't believe that, but perhaps his skills could be manipulated for her benefit, much as Leliana's.

As she paced the intricately embroidered carpet that softened the cold of the stone beneath her feet, she pondered the two most troubling parts of that long day.

Varric...wouldn't you know it would be Varric to bring a host of trouble to her door while intending to help. The Champion of Kirkwall herself.

The two women had sized each other up while dancing around each other with the verbal circling of two she-wolves. Then the woman had spoken words that made the lyrium infused mages heart skip a beat. “The Templars in Kirkwall were using a strange form of lyrium. It was red.”

Red lyrium. Bainsidhe's eyes flew to the other woman's. Did she recognize the markings that she passed off as Dalish to the others? This woman, of all the people around her, may be able to recognize the lyrium tattooing for what it was. The stories spoke of her companion who had undergone the blue (and legal) form of the ritual that had inscribed the poison into each of their flesh. And now she knew that lyrium could be red.

But the older woman's gaze slid off her without suspicion. Or seeming without suspicion. In that moment the Bainsidhe knew this woman would need to die. And soon. Before that hawks gaze figured out what it was really looking at.

And then, the meeting that had sent her in retreat to the opulent room she now paced.

Cullen.

She'd already learned the lyrium potions that she carried as a mage would not help the withdrawal. Something in the preparation that made it too easily consumed by the body. She'd initially approached the commander with the idea that perhaps the templar preparations would help. The carefully crafted reasoning she'd prepared never even got a chance to be presented.

Instead, he'd informed her that he, himself, was going through lyrium withdrawal. A complication she had tacitly NOT seen coming.

Madness, death...those words he uttered with such trepidation rang in her heart. That was what awaited if she could not find another source of the red.

Madness and death. When he asked her if he should start taking it again, conflicting emotions warred within her. The wisdom of keeping the commander leashed and under the control of the lyrium, versus the shared pain of withdrawal exchanged for information on how best to fight the addiction.

He would be her guinea pig, she justified to herself as she pushed him to stay off the lyrium. He would go first as they navigated that mountain of pain and madness unknowingly together.

Of course, it had to get worse from there she sighed to herself as the pain in her blood began to rise. Cullen knew of red lyrium as well. Cullen knew Samson, her former lover and abuser. Cullen knew the price she was paying, even if he didn't know that she was the one paying it.

She could feel the walls of her safety tottering around her. With a swift excuse she'd left, moving unthinking to cut through the rotunda on her flight to her quarters. And there he was, looking at her with that gaze that read of multiple levels of thought. The conversation meant nothing. Thrown by their kiss? She could see the falsity in that statement and knew he was aware she saw. He'd brought up the embrace because he knew it fired her blood with the memory.

If his stance was any indication, it fired his as well, however. A dangerous opponent, but she was finding herself enjoying this particular battle.

Finally she'd escaped to the quiet of her vast room. As the twilight grew, so did the withdrawal without distraction to damp it. As it flamed through her body, rather than screaming she took once again to the courtyard, pacing out the mantra of her pain.

And then suddenly Cole was there. He looked at the soldiers as he spoke, but she knew his words were for her. They were her.

“Hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Someone make it stop hurting. Maker please...”

In her desperate pain she made a decision then she would never have before.

She would...be honest with the spirit boy. Perhaps of all beings he was the one who could help her not go mad.


	8. Chapter 8

The Exalted Plains had been a bloody affair. Between the rising dead and the arrogance of cocky Orlesians the Bainsidhe had had enough violence to momentarily drown the pain of her withdrawal. It was ironic to her that the whole affair seemed watched over by the towering effigy of elven supremacy.

A coincidence she’d found helpful in deciding how to handle the insult delivered by a commander whose fort she’d just saved. “Perhaps _you_ should tell _me_ the history of the Dales,” Marshall Proulx had sneered. She pondered if his ghost would remember his last insult as she perused the blood soaked tongue her assassin had delivered two days later.

She was clearly not the only one pondering the irony of the situation as Solas glowered at the towering Fen Harel that seemed to be staring back at him. When he’d noticed her considering gaze, he’d nodded in understanding. As always between them, words without words.

And perhaps blood for the slights dealt their people was on his mind as well as they finally came across the spirit he desired so badly to rescue. Rescue it they had, but too late and his rage built until it was a thing of beauty that fired her blood. Her own latent rage rising to match his.

When he turned to her for permission to kill the ones responsible, she’d been surprised. That such rage still had self control spoke to his…power? And power indeed she witnessed as with a gesture he destroyed an entire group of mages. Mages that had the power to summon a spirit and twist it to their will.

As he strode away, the layered words he’d left behind puzzled her. Not for the words themselves, those she understood. It was the sense of loss that inexplicably burned in the empty space he’d left behind that confused her.

Once back at Skyhold, though she’d witnessed his return, the confusion in her heart disturbed her. Isolation, that waswhat was needed so she could think through what her heart was telling her so she fled to the highest place in the keep. The cry of the ravens clashed with the pain of withdrawal rising now that she wasn’t in a constant fight for her life.

Again she fled, but this time to the silence of the lowest place in the keep. But the silence wasn’t soothing. Instead it breathed to her of madness and death. “Lyrium” it sang in the water that cascaded beyond the crumbling cells. “Come embrace the peace of death,” the pain whispered as the edge of the precipice and so again she fled.

Varric, he would help. His humor could distract her. For a time it helped as he pulled her into her first game of Wicked Grace. The teasing he subjected her to...at first she’d felt her anger rising against him, but then the gentleness of his gaze and the touch of his hand as she tensed calmed it. He cared about her, the gaze said without words. He cared and wouldn’t allow her to suffer.

But he couldn’t stop it. Not without red lyrium and that was something she hadn’t been able to bring herself to force from him just yet. Soon...if it became too hard for her to suffer. Then she’d have him tortured for the location.

But as her “friend” smiled into her red rimmed eyes, she decided again...not yet.

She fled the vision of Varric’s agony her path taking her again through the rotunda.

 _He_ was there.

Her flight was interrupted as he stepped before the doorway to stop her.

“I would speak with you,” he said, but again the unspoken bore more weight. “I ‘need’ to speak to you,” the words whispered beneath the words. A decision had been made and the discomfort he clearly had with it set her on her guard. If she must kill him (or he her, the death of the mages still clear in her memory), it would be outside of prying eyes and ears and so she took him to her quarters.

Questioning? She had not expected that and it was clear his questions expected no true answer. Instead, the words under the words spoke to her of desire...and of something else, but what she couldn’t read clearly.

Ah desire. This time when he kissed her the dance was more even. She could feel in the hard length pressed by his hips against her that his hunger was as real as hers was.

The kiss heated her blood, truly, but she’d had experience separating the manipulations of lust and the vagaries of love. Moving against him in a way to stoke the fire that clearly heated his man’s blood, the room began to fade around her. A change her own need hid from her at first.

As he pulled away, though, his clear lust blurred with something else. Magic? But he’d cast no spells?

It wasn’t until he’d abruptly left and she’d fled to the sanctuary of the lost library that she realized the lyrium withdrawal had lessened to dull roar. Had he done that? If so, how? And more importantly, why?

It required more time, more proximity to really understand his full intention. And she had no doubt whatsoever that his intentions were dangerous.

 

**Author's Note:**

> How does the game play when your Inquisitor was actually the evil hench-woman of the main antagonist? 
> 
> This all started as campaign notes accompanying screenshots of a DAI playthrough. The idea behind it being, how would my personal RP decisions in character head canon influence the understanding of the scripted content. 
> 
> More posts will happen reflecting each part of the game as I get to it. :D


End file.
